Stone Beneath My Hands
by harlequinsmiles
Summary: Mrs. Lovett observes her hopes for a relationship with "Mr. T."


Humming tunelessly, I eye the mess on the countertop. A roach bursts from one lone pie, scurrying toward me, its legs a blur. My rolling pin comes down on top of it; an instinctive reaction. One antenna twitches in a fit for a moment, and then everything's still. Still enough to hear my breath, and Toby's glass of gin clinking against the table.  
_Poor bugger_, I think, staring down at the flattened insect. Ironically enough, this draws a chuckle from somewhere in my throat. What if I'd gone about saying that every time a fellow hits the floor near the pie oven? Every time I skin a bloke what done no harm to us?  
_Well then, _a different sort of voice replies, _you'd be saying that an awful lot, my pet._  
Toby hasn't noticed me doubling over in pain. I act like I'm picking something up off the floor. Keepin' things all nice and tidy-like. But I'm not. I'm thinking of him.  
My legs give out. I sit back against the wooden cabinets, skirts all piled around me on the stone floor.  
Him, up there now- the reason I've gone all out of me head. . ._baking_ people for a living, for Christ sakes. . .  
Too right I'd do anything for him. But I'm not there in his eyes. Everything he sees is revenge. Maybe she's prettier than me. Perhaps she makes a better pie. I can't begin to know.  
"Ma'am?"  
Bless his 'eart, little chap. Always carin' out his little brains and yet always. . .  
"'pologize if I'm interruptin' something, ma'am, but are you quite alright?" An expression of honest concern and senseless naivety on his young face.  
"Yes, Toby, I'm fine. I just remembered, though, I probably should check on Mr. Todd. . .'is day can be a bit stressful at times."  
"I could-"  
_Take a short trip upstairs and never see the light of day again? Preferably not on my watch.  
_"No, sir! You're to stay here and watch for customers, you hear me?"  
An enthusiastic nod.  
"Wonderful." My smile was forced as I patted him halfheartedly on the shoulder.

His eyes, full of steel, gazed not at me- but somewhere beyond me. I was untouchable. Not a wealthy man with no family asking for a trim or a shave. No cold metal to be placed almost lovingly by my throat, before. . .  
I swallowed. Blinked. That was all.  
"How are you on this fine day, Mr. Todd?"  
He cleared his throat and continued gazing at that oh-so-interesting object behind me. I realized then what it was- a framed photo of his wife and daughter, angelic beauties.  
I glanced sidelong into the mirror on the right wall, at my reflection, seeming forlorn and muddy compared to the shining, golden picture he was observing in his mind.  
I sighed and glanced back at him once. Weighed my options. Decided.  
"Look here, dovey." Gently taking him by the shoulders, I sat him down in the chair. "People lose people. It can't be helped. I lost me own husband, once. . ." And I kept it quiet just how much of a bother he'd been. "I know you miss 'er, luv. But you have to put it past ya!"  
I expected a rage. He usually raged. He was rather good at that. It was a surprise to hear his lovely voice.  
"You just want. . ."  
"What is it I want, then? Speak up!"  
". . .me."  
My mouth fell open. "I need to sit," I said faintly.  
The chair was freed for me. He gestured to it grandly. "Be my guest, madame."  
I fell into it. "That I do. Want you. But here you sit all day, every day, brooding, _wishing_ things could be different. And when I offer you a difference. . ."  
"The world is cruel, pet."  
He leaned against the window now, gray light streaming in from the street. Dusk.  
I joined him there, watching carriages pass, people, our prey, walking to their homes and husbands and wives and children and pets. The grey light was starting to fade, casting an eerie purple glow upon the whole scene. Without thinking, I tucked my head into the crick of his neck. He smelled like pine needles and old books- a strangely comforting, unexpected scent. A smile soothed the lines on my face.  
"You're insane."  
I looked up at him intently. "And you're not?"  
"You're insane, Mrs. Lovett, to be searching for comfort on this shoulder." He stared down at me with mild amusement, the first I'd ever seen.  
"And you're insane, Mr. Todd, to be letting me."  
But he did. Although he was stone beneath my hands, he was warm and living and breathing.  
Closing my eyes, I inhaled, pretending we were by the sea. His breathing was the sound of the waves, and the twilight was the bejeweled glow of sunrise over the ocean.  
I hold on to things that are not real, by any means, things I can never have. I hold on to better days, when I watched the barber and his wife in their sunny little apartment. I hold on to now, to reality, to the horrors I face every day. And most importantly, I hold on to him. To the stone beneath my hands.


End file.
